


Soothing Sun

by bombcollar



Category: Dark Souls III
Genre: Gen, Mild Gore, self indulgent descriptions of suffering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 12:37:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10360659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bombcollar/pseuds/bombcollar
Summary: If pain begets spiritual purity, the last heir must be the purest of them all.





	

_“It hurts-”_

Fangs are growing in over the teeth that are already there, flat teeth, human teeth. Those have to go. 

His joints ache from kneeling on the cold stone of the cathedral, even the thin cloth laid over it does not dispel the chill.

The feathers don’t come in right, growing into his skin, itching, he rakes his long nails over his ribs until he draws blood and pus.

Handprint bruises on his wrists and wasted biceps, purple and yellow. No fault of anybody, his skin is so delicate, even the gentlest hand leaves a mark.

Fever chills, seizures, blood from his bitten tongue, staining the pillows and drying crusted on his face.

Hardship purifies the soul, they say. Be ascetic in all that you do. 

_“I know, love. I know. Let me help you…”_

It is a month of fasting, of reflection, but he is already so weak.  

He is drawn to the yawning mouth of the fireplace, the flames licking thirsty at the air. A poor substitute for proper body heat. He wants to lay his hand upon the soft cinders.

_Her touch is warm, almost too warm, like dipping a cold foot into a hot bath._

In the chilly cathedral every breath drawn into his raw lungs is a knife in his chest. How can they focus on their prayers when he can’t stop coughing?

_Light blooms bloodred through his closed eyelids._

_The pain melts away._


End file.
